


Don't drink and dial

by fixme_in_fortyfive



Series: Tumblr Prompts & Drabbles [14]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Drunk Calling, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixme_in_fortyfive/pseuds/fixme_in_fortyfive
Summary: Based on this prompt I got: I’m a little drunk and i tried to call my ex back and i typed in your number and you had to hear a long emotional rant ohmygod I’m mortified but you left me a really sweet voicemail aw





	

„It’s Patrick, but I guess you know since you didn’t pick up“

Deep, deep down he knows he shouldn‘t have called her. Calling your ex is never a good idea and it’s even worse when you’re drunk. And Patrick definitely is drunk, so drunk he’s surprised he’s not yet slurring – much. But that’s the reason why it seems like a good idea, because otherwise he might not and he just needs to say this. His drunken-voice tunes out his rational-voice.

“All this time. I wasn’t even allowed to look at the fucking barista or- or the waitress and whenever I was out with Joe you asked me if something happened, like I would just jump the first woman because you’re not around, when really it was you.”

Patrick holds his jacket closed with one hand – the phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder, the other hand holding tightly on to his bottle of something disgusting and highly-alcoholic. It’s cold, he knows, even though he doesn’t feel cold at all, but it’s just the alcohol. How can he think about that but not about what an awfully stupid idea this is?

“I never did anything wrong and still I’m the one-“

He stops, both talking and walking, holds a hand over his mouth because he got this nauseous feeling, like he might throw up.

But it’s false alarm, he’s good. Kind of.

“Where was I?” he says, more to himself, and then he remembers.

“Right,” he starts again, “you cheated and I’m the one feeling like shit, even though it should be you.”

He takes a long gulp from the bottle – too sweet for his taste, but he stopped caring approximately a bottle ago - before he goes on.

“I loved you. I wanted to spend my fucking life with you. But you rather spend it with- Justin.”

The name sounds vile to Patrick’s ears and he laughs to himself.

“Justin. What a stupid name.”

He still can remember the night he saw them together but he tries not to think about it or he might really throw up.

“Stupid girl-stealing Justin! He has stupid hair, too.”

At some point he forgets he’s still on the phone, just blabbering insults about Justin into the silent night. About his hair, his stupid muscled arms and stupid skater pants. Who wears these anymore?

Then he remembers the phone in his hand.

“I would have done anything for you and I-“

Before he can finish the sentence the connection is lost and the automated voice tells him that the designated voicemail is full.

Great.

~

When Patrick wakes up he really can’t find words for how he’s feeling. People usually compare it to being run over with a truck or getting hit with a hammer in the head. Well in that case, the truck is still running him over and the hammer is still hitting him in the head. Not a sign that it will end soon.

He can’t remember the last time he felt so miserably hung-over, but in all honesty he can’t remember much of anything right now. Not even when he got home last night. Or how.

Patrick groans and pulls the covers closer around him, burying his whole body in darkness. Maybe he’ll suffocate and doesn’t have to deal with this hang-over. 

But now he's awake and the pain doesn't let him fall back asleep. For a while he tries to fight getting up, moving at all.

When he does lift the covers from his head its still blissfully dark around him. Joe must have closed the curtains. He was probably the one helping him to bed, too.

Last night's events are all kind of blurry, but he remembers little snippets of him drunkenly walking home, sitting down right in front of their apartment complex and texting Joe for help.

Next to the bed is a glass of water and some aspirin. Joe is a godsend, really. Patrick hopes he didn't make too much of a fool of himself last night.

He quickly swallows two of the pills and washes the bad taste away with the water. His phone is there, too. For a moment he debates to just go back to sleep, but he already saw the light announcing some unread messages or missed calls.  It would bug him if he didn’t check it now.

When he sits up - slowly because his head doesn't like the movement at all – he instantly regrets the decision.

When he unlocks his phone there’s message from Joe.

_morning boozy, next time I'll leave you outside, I mean it. And I made pancakes and left none for you._

Patrick doesn’t believe Joe would be that cruel, but then again, he still doesn’t remember exactly what happened last night. Maybe he puked on Joe. He thinks that would be good enough reason.

And then there’s a voice-mail from an unknown number. It’s from late last night. Patrick is careful to hold the phone not too close to his ear when he pushes play – any noise is like another hit to his head.

 “Hey Patrick. This is Pete and I think you called the wrong number last night when you wanted to call your ex.”

What? No.

Patrick tries to think back, tries to remember if that’s true but all he remembers is walking down with a bottle and a phone in his hand.

Now he really wants to die, as if the horrible pain isn’t enough. Please someone tell him he didn’t. He has no recollection of this whatsoever.

“You probably regret that right now, but once you recovered from the gigantic hang-over you’ll be having you'll be glad you misdialed.”

The voice sounds a little mocking, but not in a mean way. Patrick guesses he should be glad, but he really feels too shifty right now. God, he called his ex drunk last night. Or rather, he tried, but- it’s the thought that counts?

 “Anyway, that Justin-guy sounds like a grade-A douche and you're probably better off without your ex. Unless you're a douche, then I'm not sorry for you at all."

Patrick kind of wishes he would remember what he said. He's usually not a sad drunk, hell, he doesn't even usually drink that much, but he must have been really filling up last night. And ranted to this stranger about it.

“Remember, Patrick, don’t drink and dial.”

Funny, how he makes fun of Patrick’s misery. Maybe he deserves the embarrassment.

There’s a lot of silence on the line and Patrick wants to end the message, but then it goes on.  

“Oh yeah, if you’re tempted to ever call her again, don’t. Just- maybe call me, I don’t mind. My voicemail is at your service.”

Despite all the pain and the embarrassment Patrick smiles to himself. That’s kind of sweet.

But now Patrick really needs some more sleep and for the aspirin to kick in. And forget any of this ever happened. He throws his phone in the general direction of his feet and throws an arm over his eyes.

Stupid drunk-calling past Patrick.

**Author's Note:**

> I might make another part for this, not sure, but I have an idea. 
> 
> You can send me prompts and a ship, if you want. Either here or on [tumblr](http://fixme-in-fortyfive.tumblr.com/)


End file.
